


Sam's New Shoes

by Septembers_coda



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Clowns, Gen, Humor, Phobias, Sam at Stanford, Scary Clowns, Stanford Era, Stanford University
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-22
Updated: 2014-10-22
Packaged: 2018-02-22 05:23:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 754
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2496011
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Septembers_coda/pseuds/Septembers_coda
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean only thinks he knows why Sam is afraid of clowns.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sam's New Shoes

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the  
> [ How I Spent My Summer Vacation comment fic meme ](http://spn-bigpretzel.livejournal.com/713570.html%20) at spn_bigpretzel on Livejournal.

Sam crept out of his dorm room, checking to see if the hallway was clear before he sprinted for the door. He’d almost made it when he skidded to a stop, colliding gently with something soft and yielding, which then administered a soft and yielding kiss.

“Jess… don’t,” he protested, very insincerely. “You’ll get pancake all over you.” 

“Don’t forget the big red splotch from your nose,” she said, squeezing him around the waist and stepping even closer. She grinned, gesturing to her forehead, which was indeed smeared with red. Sam was relieved that it was too bright to be blood, then briefly disturbed that he knew so well what blood on his girlfriend would look like. He determinedly shoved such thoughts from his mind, helped along by the delightful distraction of Jess’s face.

“I didn’t want you to see me,” Sam mumbled, looking down. “I can’t believe this was the only summer job I could find.”

“Good practice for when you’re a lawyer!” Jess said brightly, straightening his rainbow wig.

“I hate clowns.”

“Well, most people hate lawyers. Clowns are hilarious. And in your case, adorable.”

“Really?” Sam gave her a sardonic look, which must not have come off very well under his red nose and painted-on smile, because she only giggled. He couldn’t see how he could possibly make a worse clown. The baggy clothes couldn’t hide his lanky skinniness, the giant wig added significantly to his already ungainly height, and the costume shop his employer had recommended hadn’t had pants long enough for him—they left several inches of calf bare, though they were extremely baggy, so they looked more like a poofy skirt than anything. And of course there was the eye-watering color combo… the less said about it, the better.

He continued staring at Jess, gesturing down at himself, and she laughed harder. The sound made him so happy that he shuffled around in a deliberately awkward dance, just so he could hear more of it. Soon she was crying with mirth.

“I like the shoes,” she gasped after a moment. “Magnificently huge. Like… demented tortoises.” She stepped on the pointed end that—she was right—looked like a turtle’s head, and Sam winced when her weight pinched his toe.

“Actually, they… fit pretty well,” he mumbled, drawing his foot out from under hers, and she dissolved into fits of laughter again.

“Mmm…” she said, wiping her eyes, as her guffaws at length faded into chuckles. She tugged down the loud, polka-dotted, ruffled bow on his chest to reveal his collarbone, which she then kissed. “I wonder if they’ll let you keep the costume after carnival season is over?” She wriggled her eyebrows at him.

He couldn’t help laughing. “Come off it, this has to be the unsexiest outfit ever.”

“Not with you in it.”

Sam grinned at her. “Best girlfriend ever.”

“Even though I got you this job?”

“Even though.”

He left for his first day of clowning with the hope that it wouldn’t be so bad after all. Of course, he was wrong. His boss turned out to be evil incarnate.

He wished with all his heart that that wasn’t literal.

Some hours later, muttering to himself, “I’m _not_ hunting. I’m _not_. It’s just a summer job gone wrong. Not hunting.” He kept the chant going as faithfully as any ritual he’d ever seen Dad do, and tossed his clown costume on the fire, along with the salted remains of… whatever his boss had been. He thought of Dean and supposed he should be thankful for the quick reflexes his brother had helped instill. He got a pang, imagining Dean’s uncontrollable fits of laughter if he could’ve have seen any part of this evening. Even the terrifying parts.

He’d have to figure out what to say to Jessica about why the Palo Alto summer carnival season was cancelled this year. At least quick thinking had saved him having to explain where he’d been when a bunch of people died gruesomely—he’d managed to prevent even a single death, though therapy was probably about to become a lot more popular in this part of California. 

As the nylon melted and gave off an acrid chemical whiff, Sam watched the rainbow colors slowly turn to sludgy ash. He sighed, wondering if he was now facing a lifetime of PTSD, triggered anytime he saw white pancake makeup or heard the honking of a tiny car. Probably. At least those horrible pants were gone for good. 

He might keep the shoes.


End file.
